


Lucky Man

by irishfino



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, Smut, there's a little plot, westwells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 05:13:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6142590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishfino/pseuds/irishfino
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harrison Wells is one lucky man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucky Man

                If someone were to ask Harrison Wells what he thought he would be doing after landing on Earth-1 he would immediately correct them and tell that person that this was his Earth-2. He definitely would not mention anything about cuddling with a beautiful woman while binge watching a crime drama television show. He wasn’t paying much attention to the show, he was too busy enjoying the feel of Iris’ soft shoulder under his fingertips. He liked the way she laid her head on his chest, just over his heart, the way she spooned against his side, one leg and one arm thrown over his body to increase their closeness. He liked tracing patterns onto her bare skin; sometimes they were equations, sometimes they were nothing more than nonsense doodles. It didn’t really matter what he traced, just as long as he was touching her he was happy.

                Their relationship started as all relationships must: with a beginning. And mutual respect. And the fact that she was nice to him despite his face. Or perhaps in spite of his face. Or because she liked his face. He liked her face too. Very much. He enjoyed her eyes the most. So earnest and open and loving and they could tear him a new one if she wished it. Wonderfully powerful.

                Iris absently plucks at his nipple as she runs her hand over his tank top covered chest. He inhales sharply. He really doesn’t want to interrupt her show with an erection at this point, though she could easily ignore it. But she keeps pluck, pluck, plucking and his cock starts twitch, twitch, twitching and she had really better stop that soon. Then she looks up at him with those big brown eyes, a mischievous grin on her face.

                “I thought you wanted to watch this,” he says. He doesn’t want her to finish watching this show at all. He wants her to wrap her sweet legs around him and fuck him until he can’t move.

                As if she could read his thoughts she mounts him in one swift movement, brushing her hair behind her ears as she does so.

                “You’re familiar with the term ‘Netflix and chill’, aren’t you, Harrison?” she asks lightly. She doesn’t wait for a reply, she leans over and kisses him.

                Fuck whatever show she was watching.

                There’s nothing in the world quite like kissing Iris West. She’s lips and tongue and passion. She gives and takes what’s given in turn. He loses himself in the feel of her mouth as she sucks his tongue in. She’s good at that. Harrison can’t help himself; he grinds his cock against her cleft and is rewarded with an excited moan. He wants more. He can’t keep rutting against her like this. He’ll explode and end this adventure with a shameful shower and hand wash of his underwear. No, he’s got to be in her now. Right now.

                He breaks away from the kiss, pants out a quick “Condom,” and scrambles to get his shirt and bottoms off while Iris digs around the nightstand for her small stash. With success comes great reward. Iris strips off her shirt and tosses it somewhere, who cares where, because her breasts are now free and he just has to have a taste. He sits up and gently takes a nipple into his mouth while she fumbles with the condom wrapper. She curses at him, her breath quick and hot, but he doesn’t stop, he simply moves to the other breast. Once the condom is finally freed from its prison, he tugs at her underwear.

                “Off,” he says gruffly.

                She shoves him onto his back with one hand. “I’m the boss in this bed,” she says softly, but there’s steel that sends shivers down his spine and gods above he can’t help the moan that escapes his parted lips when his head hits the pillow.

                Iris takes her sweet time rolling the condom down his shaft, squeezing and teasing as she works it down to his balls. He squirms under her touch and thrusts his hips forward when she cups his balls. He squeezes his eyes shut and moans; the torture is sweet, but he’s not sure how long he’ll last if she keeps that up. Fortunately, or unfortunately, he doesn’t have to wait long. Iris lost her underwear at some point and he’s slowly being swallowed by slick heat. He fights to keep his hips pinned to the bed where Iris likes them until he’s buried to the hilt. He groans as she balances herself on her hands using his chest. She’s tight and warm and slick and she feels so good. Her nails are sharp against his skin, but the pain adds to his excitement. Only when she’s fully seated, his cock buried deep within her walls, does he grab her hips, draw his legs up, and start rocking.

                The way she rolls her head back, tossing her hair wantonly haunts his dreams most nights, but tonight it’s a distinct reality and one he wants to hold onto for as long as possible. That becomes nearly impossible when Iris matches his rhythm then picks up the pace. He has to obey. He loves to obey. Heat coils deep in his belly and he’s so close and she’s panting and moaning atop him and he can’t help himself, he has to, has to come soon. He reaches a hand between them, one she immediately tears away and pins near his ear. His response is a cross between a whine and a moan. She’s not ready and he better ride it out or suffer later. She tortures him for a few minutes longer before finally she lets his hand go. He pinches and rolls her swollen clit like there’s no tomorrow and who cares if there isn’t. She tightens around him just as an “Oh _GOD_ ” is torn from his throat. His hips spasm and he clings to her hips for dear life as her orgasm overtakes her. She is a goddess above him and he is merely praying at her altar, but what a prayer, what an altar.

                Iris collapses onto his chest, panting to catch her breath and he feels like he’s just run a marathon, but it’s the best feeling in the world. It feels like hours before they move again, quietly cleaning up their mess. They return to the bed gloriously nude and resume their previous position: her spooned against him, an arm and a leg laying atop him, her head on his chest just over his heart and him with a hand on her shoulder, tracing nonsense patterns into her skin.

                “Oddly enough,” he says, still out of breath, “there’s not much chilling involved in Netflix and chill.”

                “I feel pretty chill,” Iris says. She clicks a button on the remote and the show starts on the next episode. “Oh, I missed the rest of that one.”

                “James was the killer.”

                “There’s no way you saw that with me on top of you.”

                “I didn’t, the clues were there.”

                “I thought you said you weren’t watching this show?”

                “I have ears.”

                Iris lightly slaps him on the chest as she returns to watching the show. He is a lucky man.


End file.
